ENHS Nature Trails January 2004 Article 3

Snowbound
by Reida Kimmel

Glancing out the window after barn chores this morning, I said "bad news about the weather again." There were two varied thrushes foraging under the bushes where I had recently thrown broken peanut pieces for the Steller's jays and Douglas squirrels. Varied thrushes only visit our yard when there is cold or stormy weather coming. We've been seeing them a lot this week. Hopefully the storm gods have already done their worst, felling our huge double-trunked oak and breaking most of the other hardwoods in the pastures, not to mention tumbling hundreds of firs in the woods to the south of us. The big cluster of feeding birds this morning included the first pine siskins of the season and a possibly a warbler, too briefly present to be positively identified. Apparently the juncos enjoyed the peanuts too as they were all over them whenever the Steller's jays took a break from feeding. The jays are definitely the dominant bird, but they fly away fast if the squirrels arrive on the scene. We haven't been to town since before New Years, more from choice than from necessity. Life on the farm in snowy weather can be very complicated. The horses and sheep need buckets of water from the creek and snow shoveled away from their yard, as well as the usual manure removal and meals of hay and grain. The chickens are undemanding except for their preference for warm drinking water heated [not too hot, please] on the wood stove. It certainly is good to have power again. Cooking and heating with wood is fun, but electric lights, running water and baths are wonderful things which we do not fully appreciate until we are without.

A friend, Malcolm Higgins, founder of the Northwest Land Conservation Trust, has been snowbound alone on his eighty acres outside of Salem. Recovering from double pneumonia, he is supposed to take it easy, and had been enjoying the antics of the birds at his feeder for hours at a time. The birds he sees are similar to populations at this end of the valley, dark-eyed juncos, downy woodpeckers, spotted towhees, Steller's jays, and those storm omens the varied thrushes. When it snows, a male Northern Flicker comes to cling to the protected side of a small oak tree, about ten feet from the ground using its tail as well as its feet for support. There it remains until the storm ends. A few days ago Malcolm ran out of bird food and suet, and the power went off. He decided not to try to drive to town, but when he went to the wood shed for firewood, Malcolm was accosted by a pair of crows in great distress, loudly demanding food. What could he do? He went in with the wood, cut up apples and potatoes, found a large bag of rice and flattened a place on the snow where the birds could enjoy a picnic of human food. Later, when the power came on again, he popped corn, which I'm sure everyone really loved. This man, who has spent years of his life protecting rural land from development, finds it a joy as well as a responsibility to care for all earth's creatures. Whether it takes legal expertise or simple Yankee ingenuity, he's got a solution to the problem.

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